Ron Weasley: Minion of Voldemort
by Right What Is Wrong
Summary: The walking pile of purple pasta requested his help, and who is he to refuse? /Parody; completely-unserious Ron-bashing/


**Author's Note** : Inspired by all the evil!Ron fics out there, with especial credit to Harry Potter and the Champion's Champion by Driftwood1965, which taught me that Ron-bashing could be quite funny.

...

First-year Ron Weasley stomped down the hallway, muttering angrily to himself about that damn Potter. In fact, this was what he did a full third of the time, the other two-thirds being devoted to Quidditch speculation and eating. This was not to say Ron was not an intellectual: in fact, on rare occasions, he speculated about edible Snitches, envying Potter for his Quidditch skills, and envying Potter for being able to afford more food. Once he had even furiously stewed over Potter having gotten to eat more Snitches than he had, but that had taxed his cognition to its utmost limits.

A giant pile of purple pasta appeared in front of him, nearly tripping him up. On second thought, that was actually Professor Quirrel. Ron's mouth watered as he gazed up at the professor's turban. Mmm. _Garlic_ pasta.

"Mr. Weasley," the professor said in a silken voice, stutter totally gone, "I would like to invite you to help me sabotage that terrible, spoiled Boy-Who-Lived."

"What? The pasta's spoiled?" Ron said, not really paying attention. "That's okay. I've got a strong stomach."

"I beg your pardon?"

" _Jussst get a move on_ ," hissed something from within the pasta. " _Tell the boy what he needssss to hear._ " Wow. Talking pasta. It must be fancy. Just the sort of thing that stupid Potter could afford!

"Come with me, Weasley. There's a three-headed dog that would like to have a... dinner date with you."

"Hooray! Dinner!"

.

Upon arriving at the corridor on the third floor, Quirrel grabbed the Weasley brat by the back of his shirt, threw him into the room with the Cerberus, and slammed it behind him. Once the disgusting sounds of mastication had quieted down a bit and he was sure the beast would be distracted with its meal, he opened the door and peered in.

Weasley sat alone in the room, looking more than a bit overstuffed. He let out a long, rumbling belch. "Ugh, tasted like kibble," he groaned, and flopped down on top of the trapdoor. It caved in under his weight, and he dropped down, a great deal of shrieking and thrashing following.

Another groan floated up from below. "Ew, _salad!_ "

"Master, I quit," Quirrel said, backing away from the scene.

" _Get in there, you ssssimpering moron._ "

.

Some time later, Quirrel tread carefully over the extinguished flames and followed the now pea-green Weasley into the room containing the Mirror of Eresid. He was fairly certain "swallowing all the potions at once, standing still for two seconds, and vomiting the mixture into the hapless flames" hadn't been the intended solution to that puzzle, but apparently it worked.

The Mirror reflected his luxuriating somewhere on a tropical island, conspicuously devoid of any sight, sound, or mention of Ron Weasley's eating habits. " _Quirrel_." Oh, right, now it depicted him having never gone to that wretched Albanian forest, instead continuing on his career as an utterly mediocre Muggle Studies professor. It was sad how one never appreciated the little things in life until they were g... " _QUIRREL!_ " Ah, yes, there was his presenting the Philosopher's Stone to his master. Well, it would really help for him to have some idea how. Hmm? No, apparently the Mirror didn't respond to reasonable requests. Damn.

"What do you see, Weasley?" he said after several minutes of trying.

"Umm..." What, an entire banquet hall, dedicated to the brat's sole use? "I see myself as an incredibly wealthy Pureblood lord, surrounded by hot witches with no higher purposes than worshipping me. Also, I can shoot wandless magic more powerful than twenty wizards' magic put together by twitching my nose, and I don't have to study at all, and I own Hogwarts, and Gringotts, and the entire Quidditch League, and I'm a vampire ninja assassin, and I'm head of six different Houses, and..."

"Don't be stupid, Weasley. That sort of undeserved fame and glory only falls to Mr. Potter in these stories." As the fourth wall shattered in the distance, Quirrel cleared his throat. "Do you see anything else? Like the Philosopher's Stone?"

There was a several-second silence, and then Weasley let out a belch. The possessed professor had a horrible feeling. "Weasley?"

"Mm," Weasley said, licking his lips. "Kind of tasty. Dunno why it's called that, though. Never seen a scone that glows red."

.

Dumbledore shortly burst in to find his screaming, insane Defense professor attempting to throttle Mr. Ronald Weasley of Gryffindor. This was an act based upon a fundamentally fallacious premise, however, for strangulation is intended to choke off oxygen supply to the brain, and Mr. Weasley had never been proven to have one.

After the professor's untimely demise, Dumbledore shook his head and looked after the fleeing specter. "It's a pity to have seen you gone so wrong, Tom," he said sadly. "All my years teaching you at Hogwarts, and you never learned that purple doesn't _go_ with turbans. Terrible taste."

"I dunno," said young Mr. Weasley from the floor, "I think it's pretty good. Garlic soaked in Dark Lord. Never had that before."

"Mr. Weasley, do stop eating that."

...

 **Omake:**

 _Ginny,_

 _It's your brother Ron. I hope you remember me. I don't know how long it's been._

 _I've been held prisoner by the Unspeakables for all these years. They got me on that "Take Your Child To Work" Day at the Ministry all those years ago. I don't even want to talk about what they've done to me since. I guess that's why they're called Unspeakables._

 _Anyway, I finally managed to get hold of quill, ink, and paper, and I'm attaching this to one of the Department of Mystery's owls. Please, Ginny, get me out. Ask mum, dad, Dumbledore - anyone. Please! Help me! If not for me - because people have got to know what's going on in here!_

 _Yours,_

 _Ron Weasley_

 _P.S._

 _Right, thought of one of their experiments I can bear to describe. It was sort of sentient (using the term very loosely here), kind of looked like me (except uglier), and ate everything. I mean everything. I think it ate its cell door, and that's how they lost it. It's also got a real mean temper, so watch out if you see it around. I -_

 _needtostopthey'recoming_

Ron took the parchment off the owl, squinted at it, and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. The parchment, that is, not the owl. That got away too fast, the stupid thing.

As he chewed, Ron wondered whether it might have been important. Nah. It had his name on it, so it was _obviously_ meant for him. And what could be more important than eating?

He burped, wandered down to see what his mum had made for dinner, and completely forgot about the whole thing within five minutes.


End file.
